Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) (14 page)
Read Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) Online
Authors: Laura Childs
“So let’s go take a look,” said Drayton.
They crossed the back parking lot, dodging around a pickup truck and huge stacks of plastic bins that were stained purple, and walked in the back door.
“Jordan,” Drayton called out. “Are you in here?” He paused. “Pandora?”
They strolled into Jordan Knight’s office, which, to Theodosia’s eyes, didn’t look any different than it had on her first visit. Same desk, same chairs, same parson’s table crowded with wine bottles.
“Looks like they’re having some sort of party,” said Drayton, eyeing the bottles.
“I think it’s always like that,” said Theodosia.
“Just wine tasting, huh? Business as usual.”
“I guess,” said Theodosia.
They walked through the tasting room, where bottles of wine, corkscrews, and wineglasses were enticingly displayed. There were also racks of T-shirts and caps, all emblazoned with the Knighthall Winery logo. A long, mahogany bar ran the length of the room.
“This breaks my heart,” said Drayton. “They have everything in place but not a single customer.”
“Chalk it up to the murder,” said Theodosia. “Would you really want to do a wine tasting at a place where the last wine tasting ended in total disaster?”
Drayton looked glum. “I suppose not.”
“Besides,” Theodosia went on, “they’re closed right now. For an indefinite period of time. Jordan told me that. And it was even announced in the newspaper.”
“Still . . . this just makes me sad.”
“What makes me sad,” Theodosia said, “is that we don’t have a clue as to what really happened. In fact, nobody seems to.”
They walked out the front door then ambled along a brick walkway that led to the actual vineyard. Leafy grape vines twisted and tangled onto thick wires that were stretched between rough wooden posts. Most of the vines had been picked clean, but a few still had bunches of small purple grapes. They were ripe and kind of dusty looking and, Theodosia thought, looked exactly like the photos of grapes that you saw in fancy food and wine magazines.
“I suppose when Knighthall is open,” said Drayton, “coming out here to visit the fields is an important part of their wine tour.”
“I would imagine so,” said Theodosia. They stepped off the walkway and wandered slowly down a row of grapevines. “It’s really remarkable, isn’t it?” She held out a hand and cupped a bunch of grapes that dangled from a twisty, turny vine. “These tough grapevines have tucked into this soil and managed to produce a rather remarkable crop of fruit.”
“Grapes have been grown in hot climates and on rough terrain for countless centuries,” said Drayton. “Look at Sicily or parts of Italy and Greece.”
“Pretty amazing when you think about it,” Theodosia agreed. She was starting to enjoy their little impromptu ramble through the vineyard.
“From what I understand,” said Drayton, “wine is all about
terroir
—the special characteristics of the soil, climate, and aspects of a vineyard. It all contributes to a wine’s unique taste.”
“You know more about grapes and winemaking than you’ve let on,” said Theodosia. “I’m impressed.”
“Oh no, I’m just a voracious reader. It’s amazing what one can pick up from books.”
“Funny you should mention that,” said Theodosia. “That’s where I turned when I needed to know more about tea.” She smiled. “Before I met you.”
“Still,” said Drayton, “there’s nothing like actual tea tasting to really educate the palate.”
“On-the-job training,” Theodosia agreed. “Always the best.”
They’d wandered right into the heart of the vineyard now, where an occasional cicada buzzed and a few white cabbage butterflies fluttered leisurely.
A blackbird flew past Theodosia and landed on top of one of the thick wooden stakes that held up the vines. His shiny eye surveyed her calmly, then he leaned forward and, neat as you please, plucked a perfect purple-green grape with his beak. Charmed, Theodosia was aware of the rustling of leaves nearby. A welcome breeze? Or—
Drayton interrupted her thought process. “I suppose we should be getting back. There’s nothing happening out here.”
The words had barely left his mouth when a strange noise started up a few rows over from them. It was a ratcheting, mechanical sound, like a compressor being fired up.
“What on earth?” said Theodosia. The
rata-ta-ta
was growing ever louder! She turned to say something to Drayton, to warn him, and was suddenly hit in the back of the head with a gush of wet liquid. “Drayton!” she screamed.
He gazed at her quizzically just as they were both suddenly enveloped in a thick white cloud.
“What’s going on?” Drayton gasped.
Theodosia felt the back of her throat go thick with a dry, powdery substance and knew in an instant what was happening. She grabbed Drayton’s hand and gave a hard pull. “Come on!” she cried. “We have to get out of here! I think someone’s spraying the grapevines with insecticide!”
Coughing and choking now, they bent forward, trying to scramble away from the terrible toxic cloud. But the motorized sprayer was revving like crazy now, spreading the fumes and clouds everywhere!
Drayton pulled out a hanky and covered his mouth. “I can’t see which way to go!” he shrilled.
Theodosia wasn’t sure how to escape, either. They seemed enveloped in the heavy gray cloud. It was everywhere! Stumbling, trying to fight a rising tide of panic, she managed a quick glance upward and caught a glint of sun blazing overhead. And knew instinctively that escape meant running to their left. “This way!” she told him in a strangled voice. “Try not to inhale!”
“I’m . . . trying,” came Drayton’s voice. His breathing sounded weak and labored.
Theodosia urged him forward. “Come on! Run!” She stepped aside and pushed Drayton in front of her. Then she placed her hands squarely in the small of his back and pushed like she’d never pushed before. Choking and sniffling, anger sizzling inside her, she propelled Drayton forward. They were both wheezing now, as if their lungs were on fire. Theodosia’s eyes were watering like crazy, and a thin film of tears made it almost impossible to see.
And just when she thought they’d never fight their way free of whatever toxic substance seemed to be following them, they popped out into fresh air and the relative safety of an open field.
“Are you okay? Are you okay?” Theodosia cried over and over. Drayton was no spring chicken anymore. Certainly not at an age when he should be tiptoeing through the toxins! “Can you breathe?” she asked him.
Drayton was choking, but nodding to her as well. Finally, he seemed to catch his breath and was able to gasp out, “I’m okay. Really.” He held up a shaking hand. “Don’t call 911 on my account.”
“I wasn’t going to,” said Theodosia. “I was going to call the sheriff. I think somebody did that on purpose!” Her terror was quickly being replaced by red-hot anger.
They limped back to the winery and found the two workers inside the barn.
Theodosia stalked over to them, her face flushed pink and contorted with anger. “Did one of you turn on that sprayer?” she shouted. “Did you just spray us with pesticide?”
They gaped at her with wide eyes and dropped jaws.
“Absolutely not,” the older one stuttered in surprise. “We’ve been working on the pumps in here.”
“Nobody’s in the fields,” said the younger one. “Nobody’s doing any spraying today.”
“Clearly someone has!” Theodosia shouted back. She pointed to Drayton, who was hunched over, looking a sickly white and still pressing his hanky to his mouth. “Do you see this poor man? Someone tried to poison him!”
Concern and a sort of fear filled the older man’s face. “No ma’am!” he said. “We wouldn’t do that! We don’t know anything about that!”
“Accidents don’t just happen!” said Theodosia. She grabbed Drayton again and hurried him out of the barn. “Are you really okay?”
He held up a hand. “I’m fine.”
“We could stop at the ER,” Theodosia continued. “Because you look a little shaky to me.”
“Those guys in there are the ones who are shaking,” Drayton told her. “You scared them half to death!”
“Good. Because somebody scared
us
to death.” She opened the passenger door and helped Drayton climb in. Then she slammed the door hard, rushed around to the driver’s side, and jerked open the door. She was still hopping mad when she started the engine and backed up, grinding her gears and spinning her wheels in a cloud of brown dust.
“Easy, easy,” Drayton told her. “We’re okay.
I’m
okay.”
“You’re sure about that?”
Drayton held up both hands. “Yes.”
Theodosia took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Tried to take slow, deep breaths that would help bring her temper under control. When she finally had her emotions dialed down to a dull roar, she turned to Drayton and said, “Well, at least we know one thing for sure.”
Drayton cocked his head at her. “What’s that?”
“Knighthall Winery is definitely not organic!”
Church Street, normally
the province of sedate little galleries, cute gift shops, and charming cafés, was a veritable carnival tonight. The Art Crawl was in full swing, and the street, always a little narrow to begin with, was jam-packed with artists’ booths, food trucks, and flower stands. Every half block or so, where two or three food trucks had converged, groupings of tables and chairs had been set up especially for this event. Colored lights had been strung from lamppost to lamppost, and every two blocks there was a featured group of musicians.
“This is spectacular,” said Theodosia. She and Max were strolling along, arm in arm, drinking in the booths and the music and the festive atmosphere. She’d showered off the pesticide and changed into a pink sundress and matching low-heeled sandals.
“So much better than last year,” agreed Max.
“There must be almost a hundred artists showcased here in addition to all the galleries that have opened their doors. And a couple thousand people in attendance.”
“You see how it pays to advertise?” said Max.
“You know you’re preaching to the choir,” said Theodosia. She’d spent several years working as an account executive in one of Charleston’s major marketing firms. She knew the importance of advertising, PR, media relations, and social media. She knew it could make or break a business or an event. These folks, the Art Crawl committee and their volunteers, had obviously recognized that and pulled out all the stops.
“So how did your Downton Abbey tea go today?” asked Max.
“Wonderful,” said Theodosia. “A full house.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Ah,” said Theodosia. She stopped in a photographer’s booth for a moment to glance at a lovely color photo of the Angel Oak, a lowcountry landmark and treasure. “People do enjoy a good themed tea. Whenever we host a chocolate tea, Victorian tea, Valentine’s Day tea, or Queen’s tea, we get a huge turnout.”
Max pulled her closer. “But it’s not just the food and tea that pulls them in, is it? Do you think it has something to do with your vision? That you seem to weave some sort of magical spell that combines food and tea with a soothing atmosphere?”
“Well . . . maybe.”
“You’re reluctant to take credit, aren’t you?” said Max. “You’re always a little shy about that.”
“Really, can we change the subject, please?”
“Sure,” said Max. “Would you like to look at some sidewalk art?”
“Yes. Of course,” said Theodosia. She smiled up at him as they walked along.
“I mean literally
on
the sidewalk,” said Max. He stopped short and pointed. A young bearded artist was down on his hands and knees, scribbling furiously with colored chalk, creating a painting on the sidewalk.
“That’s so neat,” said Theodosia, charmed by the artist’s talent as well as his enthusiasm. “Look, he’s re-created Rainbow Row!” Rainbow Row was a series of colorful historic homes on East Bay Street that had been painted pastel pink, blue, green, and yellow.
“But here’s something even better,” said Max. He steered her into a jeweler’s booth where gold and silver necklaces shimmered and gleamed under pinpoint spotlights.
“Such beautiful pieces,” she breathed. Her heart was starting to beat a little faster.
“Look at this one.” Max hooked a finger under a necklace and gently lifted it off a black velvet display rack.
Theodosia smiled. It was a tiny little teapot of fourteen-karat gold. Very charming and round and shiny.
“I think this was meant for you.”
“Oh no!” Theodosia protested. “You don’t have to do that!”
“Sweetheart, I want to,” said Max. He undid the clasp and deftly hung it around her neck.
“Wow,” said Theodosia. “Thank you so much!” The little necklace felt slithery and tickly and wonderful. And the little teapot came to rest right in the little hollow in her throat. Perfect.
Max had a whispered exchange with the jeweler, and then they were on their way again, bumping through the crowds, taking their time, enjoying the atmosphere as well as their precious time together.
“Look at that,” said Theodosia. “There’s a whole covey of food trucks parked over there.”
“Is that the right word?” asked Max. “Covey? I thought it was covey of quail.”
“And exaltation of larks.”
“A conspiracy of ravens,” said Max, enjoying their game.
“Good one,” said Theodosia. “But seriously, I think the term should be a rodeo of food trucks. Since they’re a very different species.”
“In that case, what can I tempt you with? I assume you haven’t eaten yet. At least I hope you haven’t.”
“Mmn.” Theodosia studied the posters and signs that were displayed on the sides of the various food trucks. There was Creole Kitchen, Jasper’s BBQ, Huevos on Earth, and Mr. Mollusk’s Fried Oysters. As she was trying to decide, she saw someone out of the corner of her eye that caught her attention.
Was it? Could it have been?
Theodosia took a step forward and looked around, eyes narrowed, head swiveling.
“What?” said Max when he saw her glancing around.
“I thought I saw someone I knew.”
“A friend?”
“Well, sort of.” Then, because he continued to give her a quizzical look, Theodosia said, “I thought I saw Pandora Knight.”
“Oh.”
Theodosia lifted an eyebrow. The way he’d said it . . . in that flat, slightly disapproving tone . . . told her he wasn’t exactly happy.
“I thought that, after the funeral this morning, you were finished with all that nonsense,” said Max.
She bit her lip. “It’s not exactly nonsense.”
“I know Drayton asked for your help,” said Max, “but really. Shouldn’t you let the police or sheriff, or whatever authority has jurisdiction out there, handle it?”
“Yes, we probably should.”
Max stared at her. “But you’re not.” Now he looked worried and uncomfortable. “Please tell me you’re not in over your head.”
“I’m not in over my head,” said Theodosia.
And I’m sure as heck not going to tell you
what happened today with the sprayer
, she decided.
Or
what I thought happened last night.
Because if I do, you’ll probably drag me home and handcuff me to my refrigerator or some equally immovable object.
“So you just wanted to speak to Pandora?”
Theodosia smiled at Max but felt awful inside. “Yes, something like that.” She glanced around. “But . . . I don’t see her. So maybe I could have been mistaken.”
Max let it drop then, thankfully, and they bought his and hers baskets of deep-fried oysters.
“Good,” said Max as tartar sauce dripped down his chin. It came out “Guh” because his mouth was full.
Theodosia took a napkin and dabbed at his face as he gave her a lopsided grin.
Okay, that grin was definitely hard for Theodosia to resist. She
wanted
to tell him more about what was going on, but hesitated. After all, maybe nothing was going on. Maybe it would all play out and Sheriff Anson would figure it all out and get his man. Sure. And pigs were going to sprout wings and fly away.
Two blocks down, their food cravings satisfied, Theodosia and Max turned into The Turner Gallery.
Andrew Turner, dressed casually in white slacks and a pale peach shirt with a white collar and cuffs, was standing front and center, warmly greeting each person who strolled into his gallery. Behind him was a long table with a striking Japanese
ikebana
flower arrangement, along with a delicious array of sushi appetizers and a pot of Japanese tea.
When he caught sight of Theodosia, he beamed and said, “We’re serving tea in your honor.”
“So I see,” said Theodosia.
“And I called your friend Delaine.”
Theodosia smiled back at him. “I heard.”
Boy, did I ever.
“She’s pretty cute,” said Turner. “And so lively, too.”
“You have no idea,” said Max. He not quite rolled his eyes.
“Anyway,” said Turner, “I’m looking forward to getting to know her better at the Art Crawl Ball on Saturday night.”
“Ditto,” said Theo.
“Excuse me?” said Turner.
“I know Delaine’s looking forward to becoming better acquainted with you,” said Theodosia.
Was she ever.
“I’m guessing you put in a good word for me?” said Turner.
“I really didn’t have to,” Theodosia responded. “You made a very favorable first impression on her all by yourself.”
“Nice to know,” said Turner. He glanced around at the crowd of people that had wandered into his gallery. “Now if only a few of these fine folks would be favorably impressed as well,” he said in a stage whisper.
“Have sales been slow for you so far?” asked Max.
Turner looked thoughtful. “Business was practically glacial at first. Then the crowds started to build and bump along the streets and finally overflow into the shops and galleries. And now I’ve managed to sell two prints and a painting in just the last hour. Oh, and I’ve got an art-collecting couple who placed another painting on hold.” He looked pleased. “I’m pretty sure they’ll be back for it.”
“Then it sounds like you’re off to a great start,” said Theodosia.
“I think so,” said Turner. “And this is just the first night. We’ve got three more nights to go. Frankly, the economy being what it is, I’m thrilled that I’ve been able to keep the gallery open and actually rack up some fairly decent sales.”
“It’s been a tough couple of years for a lot of people,” said Theodosia.
“Well,” said Turner, “I know this Art Crawl is going to be a godsend for a lot of the small businesses up and down the street.”
Theodosia glanced out the front window and saw the crowds surging by. “It’s brought out a lot of people so that’s fantastic.”
“You know,” said Turner, “I’ve still got that Richard James painting you liked so much.”
“I know you do,” said Theodosia. “I’m just . . . well, I guess I haven’t thought about it lately.”
“Doesn’t hurt to take another look,” said Turner. “In fact, usually a second look helps you make up your mind. Yay or nay. Whatever. No pressure from me, seriously.”
“Okay,” said Theodosia. “I would like to take another look.” Max had wandered off and was chatting with some people he knew.
“Cynthia?” Turner raised a hand and waved to a tall, efficient-looking blonde who was dressed all in black and carrying a clipboard. “Can you watch the front door for a couple of minutes?”
“Certainly,” Cynthia said, nodding. With her hair twisted into a topknot and her lips a bright red against her pale complexion, she had the regal look and bearing of a Nordic princess.
“My assistant,” said Turner.
Theodosia hoped that Delaine didn’t suddenly drop by and catch sight of Cynthia. Because she knew Delaine wouldn’t be happy. Delaine was awfully touchy when it came to women who were younger, prettier, and thinner than she was.
“Has Cynthia worked for you long?” Theodosia asked.
“A couple of months, off and on,” said Turner. “She and her husband moved here recently after the medical products company he works for transferred him.”
So Cynthia was married. Good.
“Over here,” said Turner. They made their way through a fairly large back room that was literally stuffed with artwork. Sculpture and ceramic pots were crowded on shelves and desks. Paintings were hung on the walls, dozens were leaning up against walls, and another hundred more were jammed in two-feet-by-eight-feet-high wooden cubes that rose all the way to the ceiling.
“You have an amazing inventory,” Theodosia marveled.
“A polite way of saying I’ve got way too much,” said Turner. He sighed. “But there are a tremendous number of good artists doing wonderful work, and I am a pushover for a well-painted canvas.” He tilted a large seascape forward that was leaning against the wall and reached a hand behind it. “Here it is.” He pulled the painting out and propped it up on a wooden crate.
It was maybe three by three-and-a-half feet in dimension, an abstract impressionist painting with subtle blocks of red, gold, and persimmon that hinted at ocean, waves, and sky.